


Unknown

by SolaDreams (SmilingCheshire)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilingCheshire/pseuds/SolaDreams
Summary: Nobody truly knows America, nobody.





	1. prologue: alfred

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be so dark, it was supposed to a romance or something. I just started writing and came up with this. I might expand on it, if I feel like it but I don't know. Anyway, enjoy!

The personification of America, Alfred F. Jones, knew better than to fall in love, but unfortunately love doesn’t work that way.

Alfred F. Jones wasn’t one to share his feelings as he put up a ridiculous front that people somehow believe, Alfred had assured himself that it was because he had started acting this way when he was young, but he never believed it.

How could someone you knew so well, not know the smallest things about you? Well, this phenomenon is more common than you might think.

No nation really knew each other, they lied and schemed and hated. Something, Alfred F. Jones had been determined to change, but now used as well.

The other countries didn’t know America, they didn’t know how his mind worked up bloody situations he might find himself in. Or, that once he had killed someone outside of war, and had relished in it.

No, nobody knew Alfred F. Jones. They did not know how he felt, because he didn’t feel. He was, in other words, a sociopath.

Soon, in his spare time, Alfred F. Jones would become Hitman Jones, sometimes a contract killer, other times a cold-blooded murderer.

And no one knew.

And no one would find out.


	2. chapter one: the beginning of hitman jones

To say that Alfred F. Jones was a kind hearted person would be a lie. He wasn’t kind hearted nor was he cold blooded, he just was. Then _it_ happened.

Alfred was walking home after getting groceries, then he heard the screams. Distinctively female and in terror, Alfred’s hand twitched at his side, wanting so desperately to grab the gun that was always on him.

Instead, he kept walking.

Three minutes later, the screaming continued and Alfred really wanted to shut it up and when he walked past an alleyway, he saw a man forcing himself on a woman.

As Alfred was considered a sharpshooter, it was easy to differentiate between the man and the woman and with one shot the man fell limp on the woman who was still screaming, this time because of Alfred. She threw the man off of her and ran away from Alfred.

Alfred couldn’t help but feel unquenchable joy as he saw red blood pour from the man’s body.

It was unlike war, killing was necessary then, and Alfred needed to do it to save his people who were his life blood. Alfred F. Jones put his gun back in it's place before walking away, groceries in tow.

* * *

 

[ Three Months, Three Days, and Twelve Hours Later ]

Alfred F. Jones sat at his desk, his legs resting against it, he was leaning back in his dark brown leather swivel chair that reminded him of the kind villains in movies used.

Alfred had a cigarette resting between his lips. Smoking, a habit he’d kicked oh so long ago that came back to bite him. “Uh, Mr. Jones?” a weak voice asked him. _Right_ , he had a potential client here.

Terry Blakely was a scrawny man, his clothes hung off his thin frame and sweater was a puke green. He was balding and his shoes looked to be a couple sizes too big. His ears were too big in comparison to the rest of his features, and his eyes were small and beady. Overall, he reminded Alfred of a rat suffering from malnutrition. If Alfred picked his clients on looks alone, Terry Blakely would fail. “I prefer Hitman Jones.” Alfred said coldly, Terry Blakely looked like he was going to piss himself. “Who would you like me to kill and why?” Alfred added with a lazy smile.

“I-i want you to kill my brother-in-law.” Terry Blakely, and Alfred raised his eyebrows. Oh, how he loved family drama.

“Do tell me more,” Alfred purred, letting his smile drop into a small smirk.

“He h-hurts my sister and her kids, she won’t leave him.” Terry Blakely said looking almost regretful of his choice of paying a hitman to kill his brother-in-law.

Alfred took a moment to contemplate, before saying the cold words Terry Blakely was almost regretting, “I accept.”

* * *

 

[ Present Day ]

Alfred F. Jones walked into the meeting room with real joy for the first time, America however did not. His country counterpart felt nothing, he was silent, almost worrying Alfred. He was divided, but Alfred was winning.

Alfred had a small grin on his face as he sat down next Canada, his purple eyed brother looking at him in concern, “Is something wrong?” He asked in his usual quiet voice.

Alfred almost chuckled at his brother’s cluelessness, because he was actually joyful for once though he would not go as far as to say he was happy, instead he just shook his head.

England and France arrived late, for once, after having a huge fight and had only just gotten ahold of themselves much to the chagrin of Germany. As Germany started talking, Alfred looked out the window. The meeting was in Austria this time, it’s lights twinkled in harmony with the sun presenting a beautiful image. Austria started talking, but Alfred continued to ignore them.

His joy started to dissipate as he looked off into the distance and Alfred realized he’d have to kill again to feel such an emotion again.

* * *

 

[ Three Months, Fourteen Days Later ]

After confirming that Terry Blakely could in fact pay for the job, Alfred set to work. He familiarized himself with Ben Samuels’ schedule then he got to know Emma Blakely’s (kept her own name, smart, but not smart enough to not marry an asshole) schedule as well.

Alfred F. Jones was more than proficient with a blade, having been taught how to wield one along with a bow and arrow and a spear by his native people.

Ben Samuels was alone on the thirteenth as Emma and the kids would be over at Terry’s, making it the perfect time to strike.

Alfred entered the house, his knife in hand along with his trusty pistol that was safely holstered. Ben Samuels was sitting on the couch while he drank a beer and ate pretzels, Alfred walked into the living room carefully making sure not to be heard.

He walked up behind Ben Samuels who turned as he felt Alfred near, he saw the knife in his hand and the gun at his side. “What the motherfucking fuck do you think you're doing in my house?! I'll fucking kill you, bastard!”

Alfred neared enough to touch and slit his throat, but not deep enough to kill just to ruin the vocal cords. He then proceeded to cut of his fingers one by one and watched as Ben Samuels silently screamed for help, this brought a smile to Alfred’s face.

Alfred then cut off each of his toes, disgusting he knew but he want to make sure that all damage that could be done would be done. Blood soaked the carpet from the wounds, Alfred hoped it wasn't permanent as this was a rather nice house.

Alfred cut off his right arm first then proceeded to do the same with the left, almost upset that Ben Samuels had stopped fighting and accepted his fate. The blood from the left arm stained his clothes with upset Alfred slightly.

Forgoing Ben Samuels’ legs, Alfred cut open the man’s chest. He could see the his heart pumping below the the ribs which he proceeded to stab.

Alfred walking to the kitchen and washed the blood off of his gloved hands, before picking up the bag he left in the kitchen filled with extra clothes that he proceeded to change into, stuffing his old clothing in the bag and then leaving.

After he threw the old clothes in a dumpster, Alfred called Terry. “It's done,” the Hitman said. “Pay up now.”


End file.
